


tell me we'll never get used to it

by etoiles_de_crunch



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Marriage, Poetry, Wedding Fluff, Wedding Night, background Renison - Freeform, charcuterie platter cameo, glasses!andrew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:28:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27382702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etoiles_de_crunch/pseuds/etoiles_de_crunch
Summary: basically i take nora sakavic's declaration that andreil never get married and crush it under my little gay cowboy boot, or: i express my thoughts on this sentiment through fictionthis is just a little ditty about their wedding night. a cheese platter is involved. andrew wears glasses. enjoy.
Relationships: Allison Reynolds/Renee Walker (Background), Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 2
Kudos: 98





	tell me we'll never get used to it

“So!” Allison exclaimed, sucking the whipped cream off the top of her coffee. “Last night. After the reception. What did you guys get up to, freshly married? All alone?”

Neil leaned his elbows on the marble bar. “Oh, we didn’t have the energy for much, to be honest,” he said, much to Allison’s apparent chagrin. “Sorry to disappoint. We ordered a ridiculously expensive room service charcuterie plate, and then fell asleep on each other at… I don’t know, two or three.”

“No raucous wedding night sex?” Allison said incredulously. “Just a cheese platter and sleep?”

“No, we didn’t have any ‘raucous wedding night sex’,” Neil replied. “I don’t know. It’s not like we needed to consummate our marriage or anything.” He paused, thinking. “I thought it was perfect.”

“You two are an enigma,” Allison said, sipping her coffee and rolling her eyes. “I hope you have a long and happy life together. You’re clearly perfect for each other.”  
Her phone pinged, a chime Neil recognized as her custom tone for Renee’s texts. After glancing at it, she grabbed her purse and stood up, sliding off the stool. “I should go back up and hang out with Finn. Renee wants to go down to the gym.” She gathered herself. “See you later, Neil. Say hi to your husband for me,” Allison finished with a smirk, winking at him as she turned for the elevator.

Neil waved at her as the doors slid closed, and she smiled back before her face disappeared in the elevator.

Really, he hadn’t been completely honest with Allison. 

Sure, they had done all the things he had described, but what Allison would never understand was the value that he and Andrew put on mundane shared experiences.

They had laid on their ridiculous king-sized hotel bed, Andrew dressed in one of Neil’s hoodies he had packed ‘on accident’, horn-rimmed reading glasses on as he silently read the descriptions for each aspect of the charcuterie platter. He listened to Neil ramble about the different areas of the world each food item had come from. They kissed for a long time, too, relishing in each other, basking in their knowledge of each other's presence and promises. By the time Neil’s eyelids had finally gotten heavy, the darkness outside had just started to lift, coating the room in blue-grey light. He had placed his head in Andrew’s lap and pulled the duvet over their legs, and after a few moments of silence, Andrew had begun reciting poems from memory, just quiet enough for Neil to hear. Shakespeare, Siken, Thomas, Whitman. They hadn’t done much for vows, most of their relationship consisted of non-verbal communication anyhow,

But Neil hadn’t expected the poetry. 

Occasionally, Andrew offered up pieces of himself like this, fragments of who he was underneath all his shields. Neil chased them and caught them and held them close to his chest, cradled them so that they wouldn’t get away. In the first few years of their relationship, college and just post, these moments had been few and far between. Lately, though, in the past few years, they came almost every week. 

Neil had fallen asleep to the sound of his husband’s voice, quietly reciting, his fingers still twirled around a few of Neil’s curls. And that was the moment, Neil had thought, that was it. He understood that maybe no one would understand what this kind of mundane sharing of emotion was like to their relationship. They were men who had spent most of their lives unable to trust, having been fucked over by one too many people to put confidence in any one person like that again-- at least until each other.  
For them, marriage was a confirmation. A security. An allowance. It was a symbol of permanence. 

An assurance that they had this, forever. That they were allowed, finally, to have and to want and to trust. This level of comfort would’ve seemed unattainable a mere few years ago-- neither of them were prepared, nor ready for the threatening ordeal of allowing themselves to think ahead. 

But they had healed, they had grown. They worked hard, establishing trust, inching closer until talking came a little easier, kissing came a little easier. Trusting. Trusting. They were ready to have this. It was important.

(They woke the following morning altogether much less gracefully, hungover and in too much clothing. The consequence of an unruly climate combined with the strange heat that came with falling asleep in hoodies.)

The point was, though, that what mattered and was important to the two of them was not some stupid consummation tradition, and it never was about that. It definitely wasn’t about union in the eyes of God. It was simply a promise-- to each other, that they finally had allowed themselves to make.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first time posting on here but these dudes have been living rent free in my head for six months so I figured it was time. thank u for reading  
> also; the title is from richard siken's 'scheherazade', a beautiful piece of poetry you should all read


End file.
